Open Doors
by Kyonomiko
Summary: Hermione starts her holidays off right, a surprise from her parents rekindling one of her old traditions. It's just a shame she has no one to share it with.
1. Chapter 1

**Happy Holidays, Everyone!**

 **I do not own Harry Potter, but I do have some advent calendars courtesy of LightofEvolution! Thank you, Light, for all of your beta work, your support, and your friendship this year.**

 **And for chocolate. Very much for the chocolate :)**

 **Major Alpha love to In Dreams as always.**

* * *

Hermione Granger is watching the flurry of owls in the Great Hall with open and honest excitement. The holidays are approaching, and she is on schedule to receive the first package from her mother... if that tradition still stands, of course. For her first six years away at school, her mother filled the weeks prior with deliveries and treats, counting down to their reunion during the holidays right up to Christmas morning.

For Hermione, and many like her, it is a final year at Hogwarts. A nontraditional "Eighth" has been added to accommodate those who were not able to complete their education due to the war. Hermione was one of only two in her House to return. To her right, Neville Longbottom is trying to explain to Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff in their year, the various ways one might successfully harvest Bubotuber leaves. Hannah is watching him with a glassy-eyed expression that is one-part confused, two-parts adoration. Hermione personally would wager they will be shagging by Christmas.

Speaking of the holidays, she gives a little shriek of joy when a large package is dropped right onto her lap. It is wrapped in a gorgeous two-tone white paper, repeating streaks of gloss finish setting off the matte white into a subtle stripe pattern. A silver bow, a little worse for wear after the owl journey, sits at a jaunty angle on the corner. Jean Granger believes in presentation almost as much as she does in dental care. Hermione hugs the rather large package to her chest and collects her bag, hopping off the bench.

Noticing her imminent departure, and probably her half-eaten plate, Neville asks, "Finished already?"

She glances down absently, then agrees, "Yes, all set. I'll see you in class!" She's already racing out the door before he can agree that he will, indeed, see her in class.

Hermione, to her abject disappointment, was not chosen as Head Girl this year. McGonagall felt it was _unfair,_ she had said, to the current 7th year class that they might miss the chance of representing their House in that way.

Hermione thinks it was unfair she had to miss a year of education to fight the last generation's war for them. She thinks it unfair that she spent her introductory years into a world she supposedly belongs, yet was never told about, risking her life while adults gave them vague answers and kept secrets.

She also, for the record, thought it was unfair for Dumbledore to hand out House Points willy nilly at the exit feast, but had the good sense not to mention it to her fellow Gryffindors since it was always in their favour.

But that's neither here nor there. Her point is that, while many things are unfair, she felt a bit cheated not to be able to wear the badge she'd worked so hard to earn. Instead, some insipid 7th year is wearing her badge. However... and this is a very big 'however', Hermione has something that has helped to lessen the sting; something only she and her fellow 8th years have received. Hermione has her own room, thank you very much.

The dormitories of each house were not equipped to handle the influx of students resulting from the return of a partial class. Nor did the staff seem to think it appropriate to house legal adults with children. Instead, each returning 8th year student has been given their own small room within a larger private space. A common room and shared bath facilities are the center of the space, each bedroom leading directly from it.

When she makes it back to the common room, it is empty, most students already either in class or finishing their mid-day meal. Hermione heads straight into her room, not bothering to shut the door since no one is around. She takes a moment to look at the package, admiring the paper and the perfectly creased corners. It's masterfully done. Almost a shame to open...

With glee, she rips into the side and peels away the top in one large swath. A box is revealed, and she sets it down on her side table, the paper still dangling in shreds from around the bottom. Inside, she finds two items and bounces a bit on her heels. The first is a tin full of biscuits. Little known fact: Her parents, while fully dedicated doctors of dental medicine, both have a _terrible_ sweet tooth. Hermione's mother doesn't bake, but their long standing tradition is to enjoy varies confections from a particular bakery during the holiday season. In this delivery, she finds packaged inside an assortment of shortbread, Gingerbread men, and molasses drops. Decorated with various glazes, icing, and cracked sugar, it's a beautiful, glittering display, and it makes her mouth water.

Putting it aside for later, Hermione looks into the box and finds one more item. She feels the prick of tears burn her eyes and lifts one hand to cover her mouth.

At the bottom of the box, filling the width and length perfectly, is the advent calendar that Hermione used every year as a child. Once she had gone away to Hogwarts, the tradition was lost to her. The calendar was still there every year that she visited home, her father having opened each door and enjoying the treat inside. "In your honor," he had told her once, chuckling. "No use letting those goodies go to waste, Pumpkin."

Each door is closed, and, she presumes, holds a secret inside. Something her parents had placed just for her. It's a little overwhelming in that moment. Hermione has been made very aware that she is fortunate beyond measure to have a family at all. Her hasty decision to alter their memories in a bid to protect them nearly cost them their minds. It was only with extensive magi-therapy they were able to be saved. Now, looking down at the calendar and imagining her father tucking little surprises into each pocket, probably munching on more of the same as he did... or her mother so carefully wrapping the package, each corner a work of art...

Hermione's hand closes tighter around her mouth as she releases a sob. She falls back, the edge of the bed catching her, and buries her face into both hands, releasing the torrent of relief and guilt that she generally keeps bottled up quite well. No one knows how much the war cost her in terms of her own sense of self. Ron couldn't understand why she wasn't simply happy "everything worked out" with her parents. Harry, having lost his before birth, doesn't know what it is to mourn and then rediscover, all of it mired in the weight of your own responsibility. Choosing to let them go, to send her parents away, had been almost impossible. Even at the time, she'd realized there was a possibility she wouldn't get them back. What she hadn't realized was how much she put them at risk, both by baiting the Dark Lord with her very existence, and then with complicated mind magic she had no business implementing with so little experience. Then, to have them returned to her, unharmed and perfect and not even really angry with her…? She's been punishing herself a little ever since.

"Alright, Granger?"

It startles her a little, and Hermione looks up with a gasp, quickly wiping her eyes. "Fine. Everything's fine."

She puts the tin hastily back into the box, covering the calendar. More than anything, she doesn't want to deal with whatever is coming. Draco Malfoy is looking at her with a very even expression. He's been exceptionally quiet all year, no longer bullying or teasing her or her house. It's a relief but also quite disconcerting.

After everything is tucked away, she looks back and finds him still standing there, watching. "Did you need something?"

Malfoy glances toward her then back to the box, nodding toward it in reference. "What's that?"

 _None of his business_ , she think is an appropriate response, but Hermione takes a little breath of calming and mercy. "A Christmas present."

His brow furrows a little. "It's not Christmas. Not for weeks."

She shakes her head, agreeing with that assessment. "No, but it's the beginning of the advent season. My parents celebrate the weeks leading up."

"That's from your parents then?"

Hermione really doesn't want to talk about this, her eyes still sore from sobbing only moments ago, but he's being polite, and it's not in her nature to strike for first blood. So, she nods.

"I'd think that would be a happier occasion…"

He's leading her, asking for her to reveal herself, and she doesn't appreciate it. Being vulnerable around a Slytherin is something she's learned is not in her best interest. "If you have a question, you're welcome to ask it."

There. A little bite in her tone.

To her surprise, he virtually doesn't react. No widening eyes at her snapping back, no chuckle that she's riled up, no temper flaring that she would dare to speak to him that way. "I just wonder why you are crying over a Christmas present. Seems you would be happy to receive it. Not everyone will be so lucky this year."

Hermione just stares back, eyes a little wide. What a profound and oddly sympathetic sentiment. But, wait… "You're parents are fine, Malfoy." His mother, the elegant Narcissa Malfoy is currently hosting teas and organizing charity balls, her name and reputation completely cleared thanks to her small role in protecting Harry a the final battle. Lucius didn't make it out quite as light, a sentence restricting him to their Manor with no magic use for five years, but still, they are both safe, comfortable, and together. Surely, he's not looking from sympathy.

"Not me, Granger," he frowns. "Just… in general. Maybe you've not noticed, but the war affected a lot more than me, you, and your hapless duo."

That makes her bristle, and he seems to know it. Taking the barest step back, he murmurs, "Sorry," and looks away. Just when she thinks he's done shocking her, he apologizes.

"It's fine," she whispers, feeling strange having to accept an apology when he really hadn't done much of anything to her in the first place.

They stand there a moment, shuffling their feet, when he asks, "So, what did they send you?"

"Hmm? Oh. My parents? Just some shortbread…"

To say he perks up with would be a ludicrous miscalculation of the word "perk". He lights up like a proverbial Christmas tree. "Shortbread?"

"I… yes…. Would you like one?" She cocks her head slightly to the side, finding the entire exchange more curious by the moment.

"Please," he breathes out in response, entering the room without being invited and coming to stand by her side table, leaning over to peer into the box.

Hermione reaches inside and pulls out the tin. Sandwiching it between her arm and her chest, she uses her hand to pry open the top and then presents the selection for Malfoy to see. His lips tilt on one side in what she can honestly say is the first time she's seen him smile. It's very boyish and not at all the usual sneers or smirks he wears.

"Thanks, Granger," he says as he reaches in and plucks a chocolate shortbread, a simple rectangle design, from the box.

She snorts a bit. "I thought for sure you'd go for a more elaborate design. Look, that Gingerbread man has houndstooth trousers."

His look is purely and innocently befuddled when he counters with, "But that's _chocolate_ shortbread, Granger," and adds nothing more.

She watches him take a bite, noting how he holds his other hand underneath to catch any crumbs that might fall. It's a far cry from Ron who, the first time he tried her parents' favorite holiday treat, shoved one entire biscuit in his mouth and then proceeded to talk around it, crumbs and spittle flying with every word.

She's so absorbed in watching him she doesn't notice his gaze falling back to the box. "What's this other thing?" He gestures with a nod of his chin then begins to reach down into the box.

Feeling inexplicably protective, as if the calendar represents her parents, her childhood, and everything she loves in the muggle world, she slaps his hand away. "Don't…" and then is mortified at herself for striking at him when he clearly hadn't deserved it. "Sorry," she adds, almost immediately. "I'm so sorry, I just… please don't touch that." Hermione is horrified to feel her eyes prick once again and squeezes them closed, setting down the tin and balling her fists at her side.

She can feel him eyeing her as she resolutely looks away. "You're not fine," he says quietly, and it makes her scoff in annoyance.

"Of course I'm not fine. Who the hell of any of us is _fine_ , Malfoy?" It's probably the most honest she's been in months, and damned if it doesn't feel good. Even if it is Malfoy playing her confessor.

"None of us," he agrees with a low and mirthless chuckle. "We're all totally fucked, aren't we? Can I ask what it is?"

She opens her eyes and he is gesturing to the calendar. Hermione sighs, already feeling defensive about her heritage in the face of this pureblood and his judgements. "It's just a silly muggle thing, alright? I'm sure it's nothing that would interest you."

His posture stiffens. "It might have occurred to you, I'm making efforts not to rely on preconceived notions. You could do me the same courtesy."

Hermione doesn't like this at all. Now she feels bad, and that just serves to make her a little angry. He has been nothing but cruel to her for years, literally staring at her from across battle lines. Now, he's come out the other side the loser, and he decides everyone should give him a second chance? She's supposed to open up her heart and her history so he can get a little muggle lesson and feel good about himself for growing? Well, fuck you very much, Hermione doesn't feel quite so generous.

She opens her mouth, ready to unleash something, some diatride about her experiences and heartbreaks and all the struggles that brought her here to this moment, and _who the hell does he think he is_ , judging her?! But he cuts her off, and she never gets the chance.

"Sorry, Granger. You don't owe me anything. Look, you just seemed really upset, but it appears I'm just making it worse. I'll catch you in class."

She deflates like a cheap birthday balloon, all the fight going out of her as he walks away, saluting her with the half eaten shortbread and offering an uncomfortable grin.

Her fists are still balled at her side, eyes still stinging, but her anger is dissipating, and Hermione doesn't need any more guilt to deal with. "It's call an advent calendar." When he slows but doesn't immediately stop his departure, she adds, "it's the one I used to celebrate with as a child."

Finally, he turns. It's slow and unsure, like he might have just continued out the door without a word. After a beat he nods and asks, "What does it do?"

"Oh... Well, it's a countdown, of sorts, to Christmas day. Here." She reaches into the box and pulls out the calendar for the first time, feeling the heft of it and assuming the owl postmaster had cast a featherlight charm on the box.

It's easier, somehow, facing the memories, when she is with someone who very much represents her life in the magical world as opposed to her muggle one. She had felt very alone minutes before, opening the box and finding the calendar while her parents are so very far away.

She holds the calendar so he can see and points to one of the little doors, remembering the first year her parents had given it to her. She was five, and they had it custom made by a hobby woodworker. They told her at some point they had expressing requested a door for Christmas Day to be included, nontraditional though it might have been, so she could enjoy it all the way up to the holiday itself. "So, this is the first door. I'll open this one today and then one more each day until the 25th."

He looks curious, intrigued. She's struck once again by how boyish he looks, how _young_. They all are, really, she would suppose. "What's inside?"

She shrugs and allows the smallest grin, infected perhaps by his own. "Want to find out with me?"

You'd think she had gone ahead and smacked him by the surprise that seems to jar his face. He hesitates before agreeing, "sure," and a wider smile splits his features.

Hermione pulls on the door and, tucked within, finds three individual bags of Bedtime Brew Yorkshire Tea. Somehow, by the grace of the Gods, Hermione doesn't fall to her knees, but her hands shake as she takes it out of the little door.

"Granger?"

Looking up, she finds Malfoy looking down at her with concern evident on his face. She doesn't even realize she's been crying until he reaches up and wipes a tear off her cheek. She can't help but flinch away from him, and he looks away when she does.

"Sorry," she mumbles, counting off to three the number of apologies they have shared between them today. "It's, um… the tea. My father used to make this for me every Christmas Eve. It was supposed to help me sleep… so Father Christmas could sneak inside and leave me gifts." She starts to trail off, but then realizes Draco likely has no idea what that means. "Oh! Father Christmas… he's this muggle-"

"I know who he is, Granger," he stops her gently. "You might be surprised how much I know about muggle things."

"Oh?" It's not an eloquent response, but, really, when you say something as ludicrous as that, he can hardly expect her to be quick with much else.

"Before Hogwarts, things were much different. My father didn't take much interest in my day to day. My mother was attentive, but she had a lot of other interests as well. Charity functions and the like. I was allowed a lot of freedom as long as I kept close to the grounds. But the Manor property was vast, and settled against muggle houses. I had some friends…"

Her eyes pop as she whispers, like they are telling secrets, "You were friends with muggles?!"

He gives a one-shoulder shrug. "For a short time. A couple of years really. After I was old enough to wander about but too young for Hogwarts. I had a theory, actually, that your Father Christmas was a wizard. How else could he apparate to so many houses in a night?"

She giggles in spite of herself. "I've sort of thought the same. I mean, not now… but maybe originally? Maybe that's where the stories came from."

They stare at each other once again, awkwardness settling between the cracks of the silence, and their grins slowly fading. Finally, Malfoy clears his throat. "Well, anyway, sorry to have intruded. I just wanted to be sure you weren't having a nervous break or anything. Wouldn't feel the same to be top of our year without some competition."

That tricks her grin back again, and Hermione nods. As he's leaving, she thinks about everything that has just happened. Everything that was said and then not said in this short exchange. Draco had, in a way, put himself in a very vulnerable position, asking after her, risking her rejection, and admitting something that is very controversial in his pureblood history. Perhaps, the holidays being a time of healing and fellowship, it wouldn't kill her to make her own effort?

"Draco?"

He stops short, likely shocked by her use of his name. Though she has said it before privately, usually in discussions about him behind his back, she's never said it to him. He looks back and raises a brow.

"If you're curious… I mean, I have twenty-four more to open. If you happened to be interested in what else muggles might put in these little doors?"

A blush is creeping across her cheeks. She can feel it, and she's mortified, but Hermione stands her ground, daring him to take her up on her little olive branch.

After a moment of what looks like very put-on consideration, he bargains, "If I can have another shortbread." Then he smiles, his most disarming yet.

With a shy grin of her own, Hermione agrees to his terms.

* * *

The next day, Hermione has potions with Draco during their last period. Since they return to the common room together, it seem as good a time as any to open the next door. Just as he reaches the threshold of his room, Hermione calls to him. "Did you want to grab a shortbread?"

It's a poorly disguised invitation to accompany her to her room, and they both know it. Hermione doesn't wait for his answer before she steps into her room and shucks off her robes. He's in the door, leaned against the frame by the time she hangs the garment in her wardrobe.

"I heard shortbread," he says with a smile. She answers with her own.

The door today contains a tiny travel-size bottle of L'Occitanne hand cream, Jean Granger's favorite. Hermione doesn't cry this time, but she sniffles a little as she slathers a little on her hands.

"There's potions for that," he comments, but it contains no malice.

She just gives him a smile, nodding in agreement, but counters, "The bottles aren't very pretty though. Magical apothecaries could use a good marketing company."

* * *

The next two days are much the same. The pair return at roughly the same time, so it is easy to continue their little meeting. Hermione unwraps tiny luxury items, and Draco makes commentary, always munching on chocolate shortbread. On day five, he notices there are only a couple left, and he wonders what in the world he will do in a few days.

"There's a plain one," Hermione offers, pointing at the tiny little shortbread square, dusted with cracked sugar.

"Not the same," he pouts, and she recognizes that it's slightly adorable.

That night, she pens a letter to her parents, thanking them for the calendar for the third time and also for the silk scarf they sent by owl that day. In this letter, she asks if they might include more chocolate shortbread in their next post, claiming she'd forgotten just how amazing they are.

* * *

Two more days pass, and Hermione wonders if Draco will come at all when the chocolate is gone. It's amazing that he has become a part of her daily routine, sneaking into a space in her life while she wasn't looking and making himself at home. She's relieved when the package arrives that evening during dinner, and she's giddy as she makes her way back to her rooms, imagining his face when he sees that he won't have to do without his fix afterall.

"Granger," he greets her. She finds him sitting on the sofa in their common room, a book propped up in his lap, and Daphne Greengrass sitting beside him. Pretty, blonde, and sitting really quite close to Draco, Hermione had almost forgotten what jealousy tastes like, and immediately feels a little foolish.

Nearly hiding the new tin behind her back, she makes her way toward her room. "Malfoy," she returns stiffly, trying not to be rude but probably failing. What right does she have to his time, anyway?

She's inside and closing the door behind her when it hits an obstruction.

"Ow, Granger, Merlin's balls."

She opens it again to find him favoring one foot and looking down at his toes. "I think I've stubbed the little one. Salazar, that fucking hurts."

Her mouth wants very much to twitch into a grin, but she sees Daphne still sitting there, one long leg draped over the arm of the sofa, and Draco's book beside her. _Of course it is,_ she thinks, _because he will head right back there to her when he gets what he wants from me._ Leave it to Hermione Granger to be the only witch that a wizard is 'only after one thing' and it is _literal_ cookies.

Giving up his plea for sympathy, Draco wriggles his brows at her. "What's that you have there, eh? Tin looks familiar…"

She looks down, then back up at him, unsure how she wants to play this. Ultimately, she just sort of gives up. What fabricated tryst is she even giving up?

With a shrug, she offers the tin with a dispassionate, "Here."

He studies her face so closely she has to look away. With a glance back at the sofa behind him, Draco steps into the room and shuts the door. He's never been inside with the door closed before, and it makes her stomach tighten in some sort of vague anticipation. "You know that's not how it works, Granger." Plucking the tin from her hands, he opens it and looks over the selection. "Sweet Mother of Merlin, they're all chocolate! Oh, you gorgeous witch, I could kiss you."

She has to look away, not at all liking how much the sentiment is just a joke. When did she let this happen? Dear Gods, does she have a crush? She barely catches herself before she groans out loud.

"Well?" he prompts, and she looks back to him. He's looking expectant and has plopped himself onto her bed.

She huffs a little, put out with herself. "Well what, Malfoy?"

A little frown tips his lips downward. "The little doors. Were you... not ready to do that?"

Right. The calendar. With a sigh, Hermione crosses the room and pulls it out, opening the door with no preamble. Inside, a ring glitters out at her, the amethyst winking in the low light. She's staring at it, dumbfounded, for what must be a long time.

"What is that?"

"A ring…" she whispers, her agitation gone and replaced, emotion filling her too much to leave room for something so petty as jealousy. Her answer is obviously too vague, but it takes her a long time to notice. "Oh, obviously a ring. It was my grandmother's. She passed years ago. I thought… during the war… so much of my parents' things were lost when I… Well, I just didn't realize she still had it."

Draco points one of his slender fingers to the door. "There's something there…"

Hermione grasps the item, a slip of parchment, and finds her mother's messy doctor's scrawl.

 _ **About time you inherited this, wouldn't you say? She would have been so very proud of you.**_

Draco has the decency to pretend he doesn't notice her wipe the tears away. Instead, he asks if Hermione would like to join him studying runes. He's been trying to help Daphne, he says, but she's hopeless. "A favour to Zabini, really. Asked if I'd help her a bit since he's finishing school overseas. Merlin, I hadn't realized how much he helped his girlfriend all these years…"

She smiles, flooded with relief, and agrees very quickly to join the pair in the common room.

* * *

The tenth day of advent, Draco doesn't make an appearance after dinner. Hermione settles herself in the common room for awhile, making herself busy with school work and the like. Terry Boot invites her to Hogsmeade that coming weekend, but she declines, citing her raw emotions over her recent breakup with Ron Weasley. The reality is she just isn't interested in Terry, but it seems a solid enough excuse.

It's half ten when she starts to put her books away. It's not as if they have any type of formal arrangement, her and Draco. So he watched her open a window for a week or so... Doesn't mean there's anything between them. Maybe a study session here and there, more the past three days than before, but still nothing to count on. Nothing to expect.

She stacks her last book onto a neat pile and picks up the entire mess, carrying them the Muggle way into her room and dropping them onto her side table. The Advent Calendar stares at her, and she supposes, late as it is, she may as well open the door and see what's inside.

She's just reaching to pick it up when the common room door slams open. "Stupid sodding cunt…" His mutterings drift into her room through the open door. "Fucking blizzard and we're running cunting formations…"

Poking her head out, Hermione says softly, "Draco?" The room is dim and quiet, all the other students already retired for the night, one single sconce barely lighting the room.

"Sorry I'm late," he says by way of greeting, and it warms Hermione all the way to her toes that he felt obliged to see her.

"Long day?"

He flops down onto the sofa and screws his fists into his eyes, groaning in exhaustion. "Fucking Travers. Had us doing flight formation for three sodding hours in a Merlin-be-damned snow storm."

"Sounds awful," she says, trying to be supportive, but also stifling a happy little grin. Is she misreading? Did he prioritize seeing her again tonight? Just like every night since the beginning of the month?

"S'fine," he mumbles into his hands, giving his face one last wipe, as if rubbing off the day. "I hope there's something good in there today, Granger. No lotions or jewelry. Chocolate is preferred."

Ducking back into her room and out again, Hermione approaches and, boldly, sits down right beside him on the sofa, her knee pressing lightly against his thigh. "Will this do?" She offers up the tin, still mostly full of shortbread, and watches his face light up.

"You lovely witch." He snags one with a flourish and bites it in half, laying his head back onto the cushions and moaning in an almost inappropriate way. Hermione flushes pink.

"So, let's have at it, then. What will it be today?" He gestures to the calendar, smiling at her in that disarmingly sincere way she has discovered so recently.

Without a word, she opens the window and squeals a little in excitement. Inside, she finds exactly two truffles from La Maison du Chocolat, a french boutique that makes the best cocoa coated truffles in the world. "Oh, my God, Draco… you have to try this!"

She holds one truffle out, close to his face, her eyes bright and happy. He's studying her in that way that he does, and she doesn't understand the delay. It's chocolate for Merlin's sake! He loves chocolate!

"You only have two," he says, hesitating, and she huffs at him.

"Everything is more enjoyable when you have someone to share it with. At least I know you'll appreciate it," she adds with a tiny wink.

For some reason that seems to convince him, and his lips curve into a grin. He leans forward and, before Hermione can react, takes the truffle from between her fingers with his teeth. There is this moment, a fraction of a second, that she feels his breath on her fingertips, and it makes her own breathing come faster.

He's giving her this little smirk. An infuriating, knowing expression, as if he is fully aware of the effect he has, of her ill-advised crush. She thinks he might make a mention, rub it in her face, but then his own countenance changes completely, and he moans as the confection disappears into his mouth. "Holy fuck, Granger, what the fuck was that?"

"The best chocolate on earth?" she whispers the question, a little overwhelmed by their proximity, by the intimacy in their exchange.

"Did your mother make that?"

The proverbial spell is broken and Hermione giggles, suddenly much more comfortable. She leans against the back of the sofa, her body turned toward his. "Oh, goodness, no. My mother is a passable cook at best. Those are from a confectionary my family frequents on trips to Paris. Some of the best chocolate ever made if you ask me."

"Without a doubt," he confirms, eyeing the other truffle. She closes her hand around it and laughs.

"Oh, no, I'm generous but not that much. This one's mine, Malfoy."

He chuckles in response and seems to pay close attention as she pops it into her mouth and savors the rich flavor. Hermione is about to ask if he is tucking in for the night, when he surprises by speaking first. "Thanks, Granger, for waiting. I know this is really your thing, but…"

He trails off, and she's at a loss as to how to respond. Ultimately, she lands on the only thing that seems appropriate. "You're welcome, Malfoy." Then, almost an afterthought but no less true, "I'm glad you made it in time."

They sit quietly for a bit, listening to the flames crackle in the fireplace until they are both too tired to stay awake. "Night, Malfoy. See you tomorrow," she says, later, from her doorway.

"Tomorrow," Draco agrees, disappearing into his room as well.

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur. Soon, Hermione is opening door thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, all in the company of Draco. She no longer wonders when she will see him. It is every night at half-eight when he finds her, if she doesn't locate him first. Usually already in the common room, studying or relaxing, neither has to search very far to find the other.

They are already on the sofa together, enjoying a lively debate on the customizing of potion brews when Draco seems to notice the time.

"In conclusion, I'm right, but I'm sure your ideas have some merit," he says with a wide grin. She huffs, ready to start a fresh tirade, but he cuts her off quickly. "Granger, we'll be at this all night. Some of us have class tomorrow, and, you, my dear, have a calendar to open."

Hermione looks around the room for a clock, settling finally on the hands that are just about to meet at the top. "Merlin, it's almost midnight! We've been here for-"

"Five hours, give or take. Come on then; let's see what Mother Granger has for you today."

"You're just hoping for more chocolate," she accuses with a grin.

He shrugs at her, but licks his lips in an exaggerated manner, her laughter ringing in the small room.

Retrieving the calendar from her bedroom, she takes it back out to the sofa and settles in next to her companion. His arm is resting on the cushions behind her, and the dip in the seat makes her fall a little closer into his side. Their hands brushed yesterday, their knees the day before that. Every night it seems their comfort grows as the space between them shrinks.

A petty and war-hardened piece of her heart wants to ask him why he suddenly doesn't take issue with proximity to a mudblood, to goad him into an argument and vent her many frustrations. But that little dark component is small compared to the young woman who is simply enjoying the attentions of an attractive boy. So instead, she shifts 'by accident' into him, tilting the calendar so he can see. "Ready?" she asks quietly, looking up through her lashes and lips slightly parted.

He gives her the crooked sideways smile that devastates her just a bit. "Stop stalling, Granger."

That tricks a more sincere, less coquettish smile, and she carefully opens the small door.

Today isn't chocolate. Instead, she finds a black capsule with the tell-tale of two 'c' letters, one backwards, intercrossed on the top.

"What is it? Can we eat it?"

Hermione laughs at him and removes the top of the casing. Twisting the bottom, she pushes up the raspberry tinted form within. "No, Malfoy, sorry. It's lipstick. A cosmetic."

Carefully, she lays the color, her Mother's standard Chanel #93, against her lips. It's a tricky thing, applying without a mirror. Day to day, make-up is not something she generally uses for classes and the like, but she's always loved this particular shade of rouge her mother fancies.

When she's finished, she presses her lips together, sealing the color, and faces Draco more fully. "See?"

His response is quiet, his eyes trained on her mouth. "I see…"

There's a tension between them, heavy and thick. Hermione isn't sure what she wants to happen exactly. Will he lean forward, capture her raspberry lips between his own. Her tongue flicks out, tasting the corner of her mouth in nerves or anticipation, and then she looks up to catch his gaze.

"I know," she says, the only thing that really comes to mind, "they have potions for this."

It doesn't produce quite the response she anticipated, expecting him to lean closer and say something dashing about the effect it has on her lips. How other witches and their potions and spells have nothing on her… Instead he laughs, honest and surprised. "Well, I wasn't thinking that, but now that you mention it, Granger, I suppose they probably do. And, touche, witch. Well-remembered."

With that he stands, offering his hand. She accepts it and he lifts her to her feet. "Come on, it's late. Let's get to sleep. Maybe tomorrow, we will be back to chocolate."

She smiles at him, reeling a little that he called her "witch" like a pet name. "Witch" when he told her for so long she had no right to _be_ one. It's not a declaration. It's not a kiss, but it's certainly something.

At his door, he stops and adds, "It looks good, by the way. The color. No that you really need it."

And _that_ … is certainly something else…

* * *

Day sixteen is a tiny box of candied almonds in various shades of pastels. A note inside tells Hermione they were the favours given at her cousin Margery's wedding, and isn't it just _too bad_ she wasn't able to attend?

Hermione, who never much liked her insipid cousin Margery, pops one in her mouth, relishing the treat as much as the knowledge she didn't have to listen to the other girl simper and lament Hermione's single status. Draco says they are a far cry from truffles, but doesn't complain as he easily finishes over half the package.

* * *

The eighteenth day is a crisp and cold Friday, and Hermione snuggles down into her covers for what she intends to be just a few sweet minutes. Unfortunately, she must have been more tired than she knew. Next thing of which she is aware, is a pounding on her door. "Granger! Come on, witch, don't make me late as well."

She bolts upright, glancing at the clock, and then groans. She's missed breakfast entirely.

Scrambling out of the covers, fighting them off where they are tangled around her legs, she slips her arms into a dressing gown and cracks open the door. Standing just outside is a rather agitated, but well put-together, Malfoy. "Sorry. It seems I've overslept. Go on; I'll see you in Transfiguration."

"Please. What sort of well-bred wizard would I be if I left you unescorted? I'll wait, you ridiculous Gryffindor. Just chivvy along, if you please."

She rolls her eyes at him, and he smirks as she closes the door. It takes Hermione all of ten minutes to be dressed, gather her books and parchments, and, as almost an afterthought, to spread a thin layer of Chanel 93 on her lips.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she practices a natural smile, wishing suddenly she hadn't bothered with the cosmetics at all. Is she trying too hard? Maybe she should just wipe it-

"Today, Granger! McGonagall needs exactly _no_ excuses to take Slytherin points."

Steeling herself, Hermione hurries out of the room, throwing open the door and breezing past him toward their portrait hole. "Sorry, just putting my study guides together."

He doesn't say anything, just falls into step. They've never walked to class before. He doesn't offer to carry her books or guide her with a hand on her lower back, but he does slow his much longer stride, keeping pace with her petite gait.

They reach the door only just in time, barely making it before class is due to begin. Draco hastens his steps to get in front of her just so he can hold the door open as she enters.

She mutters a bashful, "Thanks," as she passes.

There are two seats open. One is in the front of the room and one toward the back next to Terry Boot. Hermione grabs the first row chair with a sigh of relief at avoiding Terry, but silently wishing there had been two chairs left together.

Draco passes by and gives her a wink, his gaze falling just a moment on her berry red lips.

* * *

That evening, Hermione is hoping for one last owl before the end of term. The Express will be leaving to take everyone home in only two days. She is equally excited to see her parents as she is a little sad this month is reaching its end. Who could have imagined she would spend three weeks enjoying the attentions of Draco Malfoy, bonding over something as muggle and mundane as a holiday calendar. Once they part for the holidays, no shortbread or mystery doors to intrigue him, will it go back to the way it was? Their impromptu study sessions, debates, and, unless she's imagined them, subtle flirtations... She feels the loss of it already.

Around her, the students are buzzing, more than ready to end their studies for a short time and visit their families. Occasionally, as her eyes pan the hall, Hermione might see a look of melancholy on a student's face. She knows some students will not have a happy Christmas this year, having lost family in the war. Even the Weasley's are adjusting to life without Fred. Though she was invited to spend a few days at the Burrow, Hermione decided not to intrude upon them this year, believing they need this time for healing without the awkwardness of an ex-lover, regardless that she and Ron are still friends.

What surprises her most about the small barn owl dropping a package into her lap, is that it is not a box, not wrapped, but a simple envelope. Her name, however, is unmistakably written by her father. A sense of foreboding bleeds into her marrow, though she couldn't tell you why.

Excusing herself from the table, Hermione collects her bag and tucks the envelope inside, wanting to read it in privacy. Across the Hall, Draco catches her eye. She gives him a half smile to which he mouths, "alright?" Her smile is a bit more sincere as she nods that, yes, she's fine.

In her room, she slides her finger beneath the seal, lifting the flap of the envelope and pulls out a folded parchment within. It's written on her mother's beautiful holiday stationary, holly leaves painted around the edges. Though, it is her father's penmanship that greets her, in to and of itself an oddity.

 **Happy Christmas, Pumpkin**

 **We're so happy you're enjoying the calendar this year. Your mother tried to send along plenty of goodies to give you a nice holiday. Your "big gift" though, the one Father Christmas would leave under the tree, is included here. Did you tear into it yet? No? Go on, then, I'll wait.**

She looks into the envelope again and finds a smaller one inside. It's embossed on the flap, and she knows what it contains. A gift card to Harrods. Not the most personal of gifts, but generous if she knows her mother. A receipt showing the amount confirms for her that, indeed, it's a rather lavish gift.

Her mother tends to throw money at problems she can't fix. Hermione reads on.

 **Pretty exciting, right? We are hoping maybe we could take you shopping at Easter. Maybe see about some fancy new clothes for whatever cushy position your Ministry gives you. We know you're going to go far, Hermione. We are very proud of you.**

 **I'm sorry this is a bit last minute, but it seems we will be taking a trip this Christmas. You could come home anyway of course, but why don't you stay there? Maybe spend the weeks with some friends? Your mother and I have been talking and we feel like we need a little time alone together, away from London and the practice. It's just been an adjustment these past few months, getting our sea legs, as it were, in our old life. We miss you and I hope you aren't too disappointed. I just think this will be good for us.**

 **Give Harry and Ron our love, won't you! Good luck on those SNAILS or whatever they are. You'll ace them, kid!"**

 **Love,**

 **Mum and Dad**

She doesn't open a calendar door that night. When Draco finds her a few minutes later, she is sitting at the small desk in her room, staring numbly at the paper in her hand. She deserves this, she thinks. She might even say it out loud, because Draco shushes her and says she's ridiculous and slips her shoes off her feet.

"Come on, Granger. How about some tea?"

She sits with him in the common room, drinking anything but her dad's tea, eating whatever treats Draco can dig out of his room, and resolutely not touching the shortbread or anything else from her parents. She's not angry per se; she has no right to it. It's more that she knew things would never be the same, and now she can't pretend she was wrong.

When she finally goes to sleep that night, Draco brushes his lips against her temple, but she can't even find it within herself to react. She closes her eyes and chases sleep as he slips out her door.

* * *

 **So, originally this was supposed to be for d/hr advent (big hearts for anyone who nominated me for that!)**

 **HOWEVER the word count on that is 5k lol. I went... a wee bit over. So I wrote a different piece but finished this one anyway :)**

 **There is a second half which I will likely post tomorrow. Thanks so much for reading and as always, reviews are the most precious gift.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Such a lovely response to the first part of this, I can't thank you all enough!**

 **Alpha love to In Dreams who wouldn't have let me edit this down to fest length even if I'd wanted to lol**

* * *

Saturday is a scurry of activity in the common room, Hermione's classmates readying their trunks and baggage for the weeks they will be away. They are running back and forth, haphazardly throwing items into disorganized arrangements and calling out for 'that scarf' or 'if someone could toss me that shoe!".

Tomorrow, the Express will take them all home, leaving Hermione and a handful of the war's most unfortunate victims. Deciding at some point during that day she has no inclination to spend her days feeling sorry for herself, Hermione has started reading ahead into the texts of her favorite subjects. She has just reached chapter fourteen of Advanced Runes, a study of the Khmer empire and its use of rune based magic, circa 1000 C.E. when a body flops down beside her in the middle of the chaos.

"You're falling behind, you know."

She looks up, finding Draco grinning down at her. Hermione frowns and counters, "we've only reached chapter ten in the class. I'd say I'm quite a bit ahead actually."

With a chuckle, he plucks the book out of her hand, careful to lay her bookmark in place, and lays it on the low table in front of them. "Not that, Granger. The calendar. Unless you're trying to hoard it all for yourself, I want to see what else is in that thing."

"Oh, right." She's done her level best to spend the day not thinking of her parents at all, but perhaps that's not the healthiest response. She sighs but agrees, "I'll just grab it."

Walking toward her room, she sidesteps and hops over at least two trunks, a familiar cage, and a handbag. Obstacles behind her, she crosses her room and grabs the calendar, only to turn and find Draco right in her personal space.

"It's mad out there," he notes. "Let's just stay in here where it's quiet."

The memory of his cool lips against her skin flashes across her senses, and she tamps it down before her little crush can get away from her. He will probably have forgotten her by the time he gets back anyway. Rumor is that Narcissa has planned quite the soiree for New Year's Eve, all the old families invited. Draco is as likely to find himself falling into his silk sheets with Pansy Parkinson or one of her ilk as anything. The thought turns Hermione's stomach.

"Right, much more quiet," is all she can think to say.

The first door, the one that should have been yesterday, is an incredibly tiny bottle of Kettle One vodka and a note from her mother that says, **those little elves can get you some olives I'm sure**. She chuckles and passes Draco the note.

"I think I quite like your mother." They split the vodka, sharing it in two shots and foregoing the need for olives or even something as civilized as a glass.

"Maybe I should have opened that last night, after all," she says, and it has enough mirth that they can both laugh at the sentiment.

The next door, the nineteenth, holds a fortune cookie. Hermione can't know for certain, but suspects it came from the restaurant where she and her parents spent nearly every Sunday afternoon while she lived at home.

Draco is appalled by the paper fortune inside. "I'm just saying, I don't think that's entirely sanitary." He wrinkles his nose even as she laughs, holding half of the broken cookie out to him. He takes it gingerly and nibbles a corner from the end. "Doesn't taste like much," he pouts.

"Certainly no shortbread," she agrees, unfolding the tiny fortune as she chews a portion of the cookie. " _Soon you will receive a message from a loved one_ ," she recites from the paper.

Her companion quirks one eyebrow. "That's it? That's a fortune? Merlin, Granger, Trelawney could have guessed _that_ correctly."

What follows is a lovely debate, if you ask Hermione, about the comparisons between muggle and magical interpretations of fortune telling. They don't answer the questions of the universe, but manage to find some similarities in their philosophies.

"It's late, Granger," he finally says, glancing at her clock on the wall. "See you in the morning?"

She nods, knowing he will be on the Express by lunch, but thinking it will be nice to see him off. The rumors have already begun circulating, other students having noticed that they spend some time together. Hermione never put much stock into what other people thought before… May as well give them something good if they're going to talk.

"Would you like to join me for breakfast?" She blurts it out before she has time to think. It's not unheard of in the post-war climate that they might sit together. The faculty has encouraged a lot of House Unity measures, including the merging of House tables. However, habits die hard, and most students still flock into their color-coded delegations.

The grin he gives her is worth any discomfort she faced. "Could we sneak a shortbread down on the way?" he asks, and Hermione understands it's his own way of offering her a resounding 'yes'.

* * *

Hermione wakes early the next day. She has found Malfoy to be a fairly early riser. For once, she wants to be the one waiting for him. Not to mention, within a few hours he will be gone. She'd like to enjoy as much time with him as possible.

Taking more care with her appearance than usual on a Sunday morning, Hermione dresses in fitted muggle trousers and a light jumper with a V neck. Her hair she tames as best she can before slipping on a pair of boots and opening her bedroom door.

...Only to find Draco already sitting there in a fireside facing her door, his fingertips tapping on his leg. "Ah, sleeping beauty awakes."

She flushes and mutters, "git," though a shy grin. "Do you not sleep?"

"I slept like the dead, Granger, but we had a breakfast date, did we not? Wouldn't do to be tardy."

Hermione ducks her head as they walk out together, focusing far too much on his choice of words and wondering if he meant anything by the specific term 'date'.

The chatter in the Great Hall is at a fever pitch, students loudly telling their friends about all the exciting or important things that await them when they reach home.

" _I'll be going skiing with my mum and her boyfriend."_

" _I'm meant to see my grandmother, but reckon I'll skiv off, let my sister visit the old bat."_

" _It's not the same without William, but father needs us to get through this one."_

Around the room, pockets of quiet break the chaos. A student here or there is sitting in silence, pushing eggs or toast around a barely touched plate. Those are the students that will share her holiday, Hermione thinks. Those with no where to go.

"Granger?"

"Hmm? Sorry?" Draco has obviously asked her a question that she missed, lost in her people watching and her thoughts. He frowns a little.

"I asked if you want to see off the carriages."

"Oh! Well, yes, I think I would." She had planned on it all along but doesn't take the invitation for granted. Does he, perhaps, want to say goodbye? She indulges for a brief moment in romantic notions that he might even kiss her farewell. Ridiculous, she knows, but it's fun to imagine.

After breakfast, they return to the common room to find it still buzzing with preparations. Now, it is the procrastinators' shift. The students who were oddly absent last night are now rushing to prepare their bags.

"Shall we open the door for the day?" Hermione looks back at Draco as they enter the room, thinking it would be nice to open one more advent door together before she is relegated to revealing the rest in solitude.

"A little early for you, isn't it?" he asks with a smirk. She shrugs, feeling like he must know exactly what she was thinking. Hermione isn't known for subtlety. Surely he must have some inkling by now that she finds him attractive. It's a wonder he hasn't run away screaming. Or worse, _let her down gently_. The thought is nauseating.

"I think we can make an exception," she says, leading the way to her room. He follows just behind, and she closes the door once he's in.

Merlin, she's going to miss this tomorrow. It has been so much less lonely, sharing the calendar with Draco the way she once had with her parents. She hopes the rest of the doors are full of cosmetics and other non-shareable items, just so she won't have to miss having someone with which to share.

"Right then. Day twenty."

She giggles when Draco somewhat dramatically counts down from three, and then she opens the door with a flourish.

Draco peers over the top of the calendar in front of her, trying to peek inside. "What is it?" He's so excited, it makes her heart flutter. His numerous boyish moments could melt her down to her bones.

Pinching the item with two fingers and lifting it out, Hermione shows him a set of two crystal otters. They are playful things, one sitting up tall and the other crouched down as if trying to incite play. She tilts her head and gives them an adoring look. "Aren't they so sweet?"

"I'm not sure, but I might feel attacked. Are those ferrets, Granger?"

That takes her by surprise and she laughs out loud, cupping the otters in her hand to protect them, lest she drop them with the mirthful shaking of her frame. "Otters, Malfoy! They're otters, of course!"

His furrowed brow tells her he doesn't understand why that might be obvious. "Sorry. It's my patronus. I'm actually surprised they remembered. Rather touched, actually, that they did." He doesn't immediately respond, so she tries again, clarifying, "My patronus is an otter." He still seems a little unsure.

"You can cast a patronus?"

That sobers her right up. Suddenly she remembers; all those nights she was with Harry in the Room of Requirement practicing defense, Draco was somewhere else, learning to be the source of dark magic she was meant to battle.

She lays the figure back onto her side table then remembers he technically had asked her a question. "Erm… fifth year. Some of us… we learned how to cast one. When the dementors…"

"Right. When Umbridge brought them to the school."

"Sorry," she says.

"For what?"

Hermione looks up to see him studying her with one of his more sincere expressions. "Bringing it up, I guess. Mentioning… you know… _before_."

It takes him a moment to answer. Finally, though, he just says, "As long as it can stay in the 'before', Granger. I like things a lot better now."

She takes it for what it is; an apology and a lament. Hermione nods at him and agrees, "Me too."

What might have become of this, their last private moment, is interrupted by the clock on the wall chiming the hour. "Oh! We better get down to the carriages!" She would feel terrible if he had to rush because of her. She's happy for him, really, that his parents are waiting for him. There's no love lost between Hermione Granger and the Malfoys, but no one can say a mother ever loved a son more than Narcissa does Draco.

They walk together at an unhurried pace, and Hermione wants to imagine he'd prefer to stay as much as she doesn't want him to leave, regardless that she knows it's a selfish thought.

At the carriages, she tells him, "Don't disappear, alright? I just want to wish Neville a Happy Christmas."

There are generally no drawn out goodbyes before Hogwarts releases for the Christmas season. No weeping or whinging. If anything, the excitement that has permeated her common room the last two days has bled over outside the castle. Neville returns her sentiment, complete with one of his awkward hugs. Luna tells her she will be on holiday with her father in Zanzibar. Apparently the Quibbler has an exclusive on some imaginary beast or the other. Hermione pretends to be very happy for her.

She misses Harry and Ron in moments like these. Not distracted by studying (or Draco), she misses the joy she finds in their friendship.

Turning back toward the castle, the last of the students jockeying for positions in the carriages, she looks for Draco. For just one moment, she's afraid he has already boarded, forgoing a proper goodbye. Hermione is about to be truly angry at herself, but then she finds him standing to the side near the last few students yet to either board or those set to return to the castle.

"I'm so sorry," she breathes, rushing over to him. "I was caught up with Luna. She's going to Zanzibar of all things! You'd not believe the things she thinks she is going to find there. Honestly, she's eerily brilliant, but some days she's just flat out eerie… oh! Oh, Merlin, Draco, you need to go!"

He looks down at her with a completely bemused expression. "Go where, Granger? You're so agitated…"

She stomps once, huffing, and gestures to the carriages with a quick jab of both hands, palms up as if presenting them. "The carriages! They're about to leave!"

Draco chuckles at her, his eyes warm. "I'm not leaving, obviously."

Obviously?

"You're not?" She probably looks completely dumbstruck. It would be an appropriate expression.

He has the audacity to scoff at her. "Of course not. And let you get ahead on N.E.W.T.S preparation? Please. I won't make it _that_ easy for you, witch."

He looks down at her, a soft smile still curling his lip, and holding her gaze like she's supposed to be puzzling him out.

"You stayed for me?"

If there are any students left around them, Hermione doesn't know it. Probably, the thestrals are taking off and the students are cheering and yelling farewells, but Hermione doesn't hear a thing. She's captured in slate grey eyes and concentrating very hard on breathing.

His smile, no less warm but broadening with delight, hints at her answer. "How much shortbread do we have left, Granger? Enough until Christmas? I want you to know I gave up the Black recipe chestnut stuffing for you. The least you can do is keep me in sweets."

He offers his elbow which she takes, laughing softly and following him back to the castle. Perhaps, Christmas is looking a bit brighter after all.

* * *

The shortbread lasts until the twenty-third, and that is on pretty strict rationing. "Tragic," Draco mutters just before he takes the last corner of the last one into his mouth. Hermione starts to speak, trying to say he's probably had quite enough the past three weeks anyway, but he holds up his hand to signal for silence, keeping his eyes closed as he chews, savoring the final morsel.

When he swallows, thick and exaggerated, to which Hermione rolls her eyes, he levels her with a look. "Now you have to share whatever is left in your calendar, obviously."

She counters, "As if I've been terribly stingy up until now."

Draco waves away the point with a flippant flick of his wrist. "Be that as it may… " He looks back at her with a smile. "Shall we see what's in there this evening?"

She glances at the clock and finds it to be nearly ten at night. They've spent the better part of the day reminiscing Christmases past, playing exploding snap, and sampling the bottle of fire whiskey Lucius had sent over as an early gift.

 **I was a young wizard once** , the man had written. **You think I don't know you've stayed around for a witch? Happy Christmas, son.**

"Imagine if he knew you were spending time with _me_ …"

She'd regretted the comment immediately, their easy atmosphere evaporating, but Draco had said simply, "He knows better than to make any designs on my choices from now on."

And that, as they say, was that.

Rising from the sofa in their now private common room, all other final year students having left, she retrieves the calendar once again and flops down beside her unlikely friend.

Next to her, Draco is mock whispering in a not-so-quiet voice, "Chocolate...chocolate...chocolate…"

"Stop that," she chastises with a laugh. "Don't be disappointed when its rouge."

As it happens, it is neither. Instead of chocolates or face creams or anything quite so ordinary, Hermione extracts a tiny compact with a metal casing.

"That's in Paris."

Hermione looks up at Draco who is studying the item with interest. "It is," she confirms. "It's called the-"

"Eiffel Tower," he finishes with her. "Yes, I'm aware. Mother wanted me to see it. I was… perhaps eight? We visited family in France and skirted the edges of muggle Paris. My mother says it's one of the only things muggles have made of which she approves."

She looks at him with wide eyes and whispers, "So many things about that statement I find surprising." He laughs at the comment.

"So why a tiny mirror with a building on it?"

Hermione holds the object closer to his face. "This was a souvenir muggles bought at the World's Fair over a hundred years ago. It was a grand exposition and when the Tower was designed and built. I've always been fascinated by that event. Where in the world Mum found this is beyond me…"

"It seems she has outdone herself yet again."

Hermione cups the item in her palms, looking down at it and unsure how to feel. She was so afraid of losing them for so long. First to the war, then to her own botched magic destroying their minds. They might not be physically with her today, but can she begrudge them their time to heal? And haven't they shown her through all of these gifts, both lavish and mundane, that they know her completely? Accept and love her with all they have?

She feels like she has wept more in this month of December than in all of her life combined. And once again, she barely registers the tears falling until she feels the pad of Draco's thumb wipe a tear away. "I'm sure you know, but they seem to have you figured out," he tells her softly.

Hermione reaches up and lays her hand over Draco's, holding his palm to her cheek. "I thought maybe they decided to go... because they couldn't stand to look at me. After…"

And then she tells him. For the first time since the war, Hermione confesses her sins to someone who hadn't already known. Different than trying to explain her guilt to Harry or Ron or her mentors like McGonagall, Draco listens with rapt attention, asking occasional questions, but mostly just letting her speak.

"They must have understood," he assures her. "You were protecting them. They can't fault you for that, Granger."

She nods, still crying silently. Eventually, Draco slips his arm around her shoulder and draws her back against the sofa cushions. They sit that way for some time, not speaking. Hermione is holding the compact, opening and closing the lid and staring into the flames of the common room fire.

Draco glides one fingertip up and down her arm absently, lost in his own thoughts. Eventually, they fall asleep, curled together and the fire dying down to embers. As the room chills around them, they hold each other tighter until they are wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

Hermione is not the first to greet the morning of Christmas Eve. She know this because, when she turns her head, she finds the clear grey eyes of Draco looking back at her. "Morning," he says softly, voice rough with disuse.

She blushes but holds his gaze. "Good morning."

After a beat, he extracts himself and sits up, stretching his arms over his head. "It's half nine," he comments. "Quite surprised we slept that long on a chesterfield."

Hermione giggles, a bit of nervous energy thrumming through her veins. "I must say, I feel quite rested."

Draco groans at her, effecting a put-upon tone of voice and pretending to complain, "Dear Merlin, now you'll want a repeat of this. Fine," he stresses, as if he's giving up. "I suppose we could try it again tonight. So _demanding_."

"I literally hadn't asked for anything," she says back, grinning.

"You didn't have to," he winks. "I think after these past few weeks, I know a thing or two about Hermione Granger. For instance, I know you'd like tea with a scone, yes?"

"Maybe you have been paying attention…"

"Slytherin," he tells her. "Observation is a survival skill, love."

Damned if that one tiny final word doesn't make her shiver.

* * *

Truthfully, she had expected one of her more emotional or sentimental gifts on Christmas Eve. Hermione has been thrilled by every item she has received, but, being so close to the actual holiday, she is surprised when the door labeled 24 contains a Cadbury Creme Egg and a note.

 **They can't all be Swarovski crystal, Darling.**

She snorts at her mother's cheek.

"Now, _that_ looks edible."

Draco wriggles his eyebrows, and she smirks. "Yes, but see how there's only the one?"

With a rather dramatic gasp, he lays his hand over his heart. "Granger! You wouldn't! After I stayed here for you? Doing my gentlemanly duty to accompany a defenseless witch-"

"Defenseless?!"

"-and you would deny me this one thing? Such a trifling matter…"

She shakes her head, bemused and heart light. It will be Christmas in a few hours. What she had thought would be a lonely, depressing affair has been one of the finest holidays she has ever enjoyed. Nearly evaporated are her concerns that her odd friendship might vanish at the beginning of term. He has proven himself sincere in his affections, platonic or not still up for debate. Regardless, she cannot imagine the next few months without this new found connection, and intends to fight for it if need be.

Hermione carefully peels the foil wrapping from around the egg, noting Draco's eyes on her as she does. When it's revealed, she spins it carefully for him to see.

"Share it with me?" he asks quietly, and his tone makes her blush.

"Not really a good way to share these, I'm afraid. You have it. I've grown up on these; I know what they taste like."

She offers up the candy, and, much as he had with the truffle what feels like a lifetime ago, he bites the top of the egg off with his teeth.

His eyes go wide as soon as he hits the center. "What in Merlin's name is in that?!"

"Delicious, isn't it?" is all she says, watching him lick his lips.

"You have the rest. I won't be responsible for denying you that."

Hermione considers him, a slow smile spreading her lips. "I'll make you a deal," she ventures, feeling brave. Perhaps it's that miraculous feel of the holidays, but suddenly she thinks she can take on anything. "Next June, when we take the Express back, I'll pop into a muggle shop and purchase one for you."

"And, one for you as well, I'd wager," he teases.

She laughs and agrees, "For me as well."

"Perfect. Then I guess I can take a little more…"

This time when he bites down, his teeth graze her fingertips and she would swear his tongue tastes her skin. She has trouble catching her breath for a long time, floating into her room when they agree to call it a night. She lays staring at the ceiling for a long time, more excited for a Christmas morning than she can ever remember.

* * *

When Draco ventures into the common room on Christmas morning, his heart is hammering in his chest. He hadn't imagined on that first day of December, simple concern prompting him to ask Hermione if all was well, that he would start an avalanche of interactions with the witch, burying him under the weight of his growing affections.

He's startled to find her already waiting for him. One of the many things he has come to know about Hermione Granger is that the witch likes her sleep. It's as he gets closer that he sees the slightly melancholy expression on her face.

Settling into his typical front of nonchalance, he drops down beside her, noting the calendar resting on her lap. "Happy Christmas officially."

She looks at him immediately, trying for a smile but coming up just a little short. If he did not know her so well by now, he might have missed it. "Good morning." He frowns at the tone of her voice.

"Has something happened?"

"Oh, no, not at all. It's always just a little sad, you know? Coming to the end. This year maybe more than most. It almost felt like I had my family with me. Not to mention…."

She trails off, and Draco knows better than to push her for more. "Do you want to wait?" he asks, gesturing to the little door. "You could save it for tonight…"

She shakes her head, curls bouncing and brushing against his shoulder. "We always finish on Christmas morning. I'd rather keep the tradition." Draco nods in understanding, then sits quietly as she continues to consider the calendar.

He watches her finally reach for the door, opening carefully. Inside is another box, similar in shape to the one that held the ring Hermione said had belonged to her maternal grandmother. This one, however is maroon in color and looks to be made of velvet. Before opening the box, she reaches in again and finds a slip of parchment. Not every day had a coordinating message, but Draco is relieved for her sake that she has one today of all days.

Reading over her shoulder, he finds the familiar scrawl he now recognizes as belonging to her mother.

 **Happy Christmas, our most darling daughter.**

 **I had wanted you to have mother's ring because it represents our past, yours and mine together. But this year more than any other, is about the future. Your father and I cannot wait to make new memories with you, to embrace our family going forward. Even when we were away, I want you to know we always felt there was something missing. We know now that it was you. Please remember us when you wear this just as we always, despite your best magical efforts, young lady, remember you. We love you, Hermione. Our new life together is just beginning.**

 **Mum and Dad**

With a trembling hand, Hermione opens the box. Inside is a pendant with a large stone, perfectly coordinated to the vintage ring she received many days before. A dainty chain is attached to the top and disappears beneath the cushion on which the pendant sits.

Draco sits quietly, watching her as she stares down at the necklace, finally withdrawing it carefully from the box. Her fingers shake as she struggles to undo the clasp before Draco stills her with his own. "Allow me?"

She nods but still won't look at him, gazing down at their hands. He extracts the pieces from her fingers and deftly unhooks the claw from its mated loop. "Lift your hair?" he requests quietly. She turns her body away, her knees pushing against the arm of the small sofa, and pulls her curls up from her shoulders.

Draco swallows, knowing it is not an appropriate time but unable to stop his eyes from roving the long line of her neck. He reaches around her throat, carefully slipping his hands over her shoulders and beneath her arms. Bringing the chain around to meet at the back, he closes the piece together and lays the chain against her skin, letting his fingertips linger there.

She turns eventually, and he finds a very becoming blush staining her cheeks. "You're good at that," she mentions, referring, he assumes, to his deft handling of the clasp.

"Practice," he answers with a shrug only to watch her grimace and look away. "My mother," he clarifies. "Narcissa always has coordinating accessories, even for a day at the Manor. Said she found it more ladylike for a gentleman rather than a house elf help with her attire."

She whispers a soft, "oh", of understanding, but can't seem to find anything else to say.

"So," he says, clearing his throat. Draco finds himself trying to dredge up some of the courage for which neither his House nor his family is known. "Finally, Christmas then. I… I must apologize; I don't have a gift for you…"

"Oh, Draco, I hadn't expected you to," she says quickly, perking up as she tries to assuage his guilt. "We've only just become friends…" She looks up at him, unsure, and continues softly. "That is…. we are, right? Friends?"

Draco gives her a crooked grin, assuring her, "I rather thought so. Unless this is an elaborate ruse on my part to distract you from your studies and take top marks."

She chuckles a little. "Well, that sort of skullduggery would be fairly on brand for your House."

Laughing in turn, Draco settles into the sofa, feeling much more comfortable with the tension broken, Hermione's tears stemmed before they could fall.

"Besides," she says, leaning back next to him, "I don't have anything for you either. I'll make it up to you on your Birthday. As many Cadbury eggs as you can handle."

"Don't be daft," he chastises, fondness tinting the harsh words. "You shared every gift with me for weeks. Even one of those truffles. Not sure I could have given one up," he adds, eliciting a laugh even as his brow furrows, his tone turning serious and his head lying against the cushion to look at her. "You shared the season with me, Hermione. Your family and your traditions. No one has ever given me so much."

She turns her body toward him, her cheek pillowing the cushion behind them as well so they are looking at each other, noses inches apart.

"I'm not sure what this season would have looked like without you," she tells him. "Thank you for counting down with me. For indulging all my little muggle things when advent isn't even something wizards recognize. For counting down the days to Christmas."

Draco feels struck by genius, the heavens opening and the seas part, finding the opportunity he has sought for days. He lifts his hand to trail from her temple to her jaw, watching her chest hitch with a held breath as he does.

Taking advantage of her silence, he leans closer and denies, quietly, "I wasn't. I was counting down to this," and then gently presses his lips against hers.

If she's surprised, it doesn't stop her from answering his attentions with nips and flicks of her tongue, inviting him to do more; To give and take _more_. He does, escalating the kiss in tandem with her until they are pressed together, moaning into each other's mouth, hands searching for skin to touch, for places to hold.

They both pull back, breathing heavily, fingertips still clinging, digging into the other. "You… counted down… to that?" She asks, and she sounds slightly incredulous.

Draco was rather proud of himself for that one. "I did," he grins.

"You _waited_? Godric, why?! We could have been doing this for days!"

His smirk falters, ego deflating. "Well, when you put it like that…"

Hermione laughs again, pulling him closer to press one gentle kiss to his lips and murmur "Happy Christmas, Draco. Maybe I can find something to give you after all."

He smirks and gathers her against him.

* * *

The staff starts to wonder about them by the New Year, absent as they are from most meals. By the time the other students have returned, Draco has moved his favorite sheets onto Hermione's bed, and all of her shortbread, even the plain type is gone. On the first day of class, they emerge from her room together, and, by the time they reach the Great Hall for breakfast, the castle at large is gossiping about the unconventional pair. It doesn't seem to bother Hermione, and Draco just holds her closer, staking a claim and offering himself in turn.

For his birthday, Jean Granger sends a dozen chocolate eggs as well as a tin of chocolate shortbread just for him. As with anything else from now on, he lets Hermione share.

* * *

T **hank you all very very much for reading and I wish you the Happiest of Holidays.**

 **And remember, the awesome thing about reviews is it is a gift you don't need to wrap :P**


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